


and i'll follow you forever

by buckymyson (trashfinity)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, For the most part, Future Fic, Marriage Proposal, Weddings, general scalia cuteness basically, some implied smut i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 05:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfinity/pseuds/buckymyson
Summary: In which Malia finally gets her trip to Paris, Scott is in love, and everyone lives happily ever after.Or: Scott McCall is a total sap and knows it.





	and i'll follow you forever

**Author's Note:**

> I was quick to hop on the Scalia train this season and I just had to write something. Probably really cheesy but I don't really care because the finale left me wanting for cheesy, cliché fluff.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“Run away with me.”

 

The words are soft, murmured against bare skin in the early morning light, lips pressed to his shoulder, reverberating down his spine, his nerves, to his callused fingertips and numb toes. Warmth blossoms in his chest, his heart soaring as promises are kissed into his skin, familiar hands on his body. War had left him broken, a shell of a man fighting his demons in a world without angels, hurt and afraid and vulnerable. To feel this love, all-encompassing and passionate and  _ real _ , true and sincere, has mended the cracks left in his soul, swept the night terrors into the streets, left him feeling whole and human again.

 

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth,” he whispers, voice muffled by the pillow, but neither need to hear his words to understand the promise. He’s hers and she’s his, the wolf and the coyote, so long as they both shall live.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

They land in Paris, lights twinkling beneath them like stars in the night sky. But it’s her wondrous smile, bright and wide and beautiful, as they descend through the clouds that steals his breath from his lungs, the blood from his veins, the beating of his heart. There are other cities back in California, sparkling and vibrant and historic, but her smile is one-of-a-kind, a rare masterpiece, priceless and lovely. He falls in love all over again each time she smiles like this, eyes crinkling and shining with mirth and beauty and excitement, his heart skipping a beat as the corners of her mouth turn up in a grin.

 

He buys a ring that night, on the streets of Paris. It’s silver, the band slim and simple, with a small diamond perched on top. Perfect and beautiful, like her. He takes a picture and sends it to Lydia and his mother, two nervous emojis the only other message. Argent -  _ Chris,  _ the man keeps insisting - sends his own picture of a ring, though this one sits on a woman’s finger. His mother’s finger. 

 

Scott’s smile rivals Malia’s that night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There is no flashy proposal or romantic dinner. Stiles texts him increasingly complex ideas over the span of two days, but Scott shoots them all down because none are  _ Malia. _ She’s simple, honest, loyal. Extravagance and luxury are lost on her. 

 

He wakes the next morning to an empty bed and the sun rising over the city. On the balcony stands Malia, dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, glowing in the golden sunlight. A smile tugs at his lips as he imagines their lives in five, ten, twenty years, imagines Malia older but just as beautiful, the only difference being a ring on her finger. 

 

Scott balances the velvet box on the railing, ring glinting in the light, and waits for an answer. He doesn’t kneel, or make a speech, but just stands with her, eyes locked on the distant horizon. 

 

“Marry me,” is all he says, words whispered into the bare skin of her shoulder.

 

“Yes,” is her reply, spoken quietly against his lips.

 

Warmth blossoms in his chest, thrumming through his veins, exploding like fireworks in his nerves. He’s no longer the scared kid stumbling his way through his first relationship, never quite sure what to do or what to say. Not anymore. Over the years, from Allison and Kira to Malia, Scott’s grown as a person, as a partner, as a friend. It is not fear controlling him but love, the raging flames burning strong through the dark nights and sunny days. All he does is motivated by the love he has for his friends, his family, his town. For Allison and Kira. For Malia.

 

Allison will always hold a piece of his heart, a piece of him, as his first love. So will Kira, for that matter. But he sees now that Malia is his true love, his soulmate. He’s older, now, and wiser, isn’t so blinded by infatuation or puppy love. What he has with Malia is different, somehow, though he’s not sure how. More sincere, in a way, and experienced. They aren’t the dumb teenagers fighting their way through SATs and Ghost Riders and awkward crushes, but adults who have loved and lost.

 

_ You’re still so young _ , people will say, oblivious to strong foundation of friendship they stand on, or the wars they’ve fought together, or the years spent loving each other. Scott wants this, though, more than anything. He wants to call Malia his wife, wants to promise to love her until the world burns away and pieces itself back together again, wants to be with her until their bones ache and their joints creak and their fighting days are blurry memories only remembered on a rainy day.

 

He grins into the kiss, laces their fingers together and feels the cool ring nestled on her finger. The happiness that had once felt so cold and foreign, a dream amidst bloody battles, is bursting in his chest, slamming back into his reality.

 

This is worth every second of fighting, and he’d relive every battle if it led back to this moment.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Beneath the twinkling stars and silver moon, fairy lights are strung up around a grassy field, illuminating the faces of the dancing couples as they sway to and fro. Raucous laughter echos from inside the tent, and soft music flows from the speakers. Bouquets of delicate flowers decorate the few tables, the tall wooden posts, the lattice archway, soft purple and sweet-smelling, joined by flickering candles and threads of string. Months of stressful planning created the beautiful scene, though one would never know the toll it took on the bride and groom, for its splendor is simple.

 

Scott sits alone, drink in hand, watching the guests dance and laugh and sing. Too many years have passed since they’ve all returned home for a celebration, since they’ve truly been a pack. People have moved away, up and down the coast or across the country, so many leaving Beacon Hills for bigger and better places. He has to admit he was surprised to see everyone again. A miracle, Malia called it, though perhaps it’s more of a miracle this wedding came together in the first place. Life has a way of interrupting in the most inconvenient of ways, and it never seemed to stop for four years straight. Finally, they managed to set a date and everything else started falling into place. 

 

And now they’re here, rings on their fingers and stomachs full of cake. Malia is dancing with Derek, the two cousins laughing as they step off-time and stumble around the grass. Though his wife -  _ wife!  _ \- is still wary of her father, she’s grown quite close to her cousins, with Derek becoming the brother she never had. One of Derek’s daughters, the youngest by the looks of things, approaches the dancing duo and stretches her arms up high, her tiny voice begging for her to be picked up. Never one to disappoint his kids, Derek obliges and hefts little Jessica onto his hip. Malia, with her newfound love of babies, bends down and grins at the girl, tickling her stomach. 

 

“So, when do you and Scott plan on adding to the pack? I’m sure Jesse would love some little cousins to play with,” he hears Derek ask. Not a surprising question, though Scott never expected it to be Derek who asked it.

 

Malia grins, turning slightly to wink at Scott. “Soon, I think. Maybe in a few years,” she lies, because the timeline is more like Christmas.

 

Kids have been a topic of conversation since he proposed, and they’d both reached the same conclusion a few years ago, but figured it would be best to wait until after the wedding and once they had stable employment and a house. This changed when Malia showed up on his lunch hour and shoved a positive pregnancy test in his face, six weeks before the wedding. Luckily, they already had two of the three boxes checked off, so it’s more of an expedited process than an inconvenient one. 

 

Already, he’s begun to see the slight swell of her belly, the hint of new life. If he listens closely, he can hear the steady thumping of his child’s heart, quick and quiet and barely there. It’s so innocent and pure compared to what he’s seen, to what he’s lived. There is no death, only life. For something so inconceivably small, there’s so much power in the beating of a heart, something awe-inspiring by its relentless rhythm. He helped create this life, this power. Scott has seen too much death, too much hurt, and just stopping his day for a moment to listen refreshes him, keeps him moving forward.

 

Malia turns to him, waving him towards the dance floor with a grin, and Scott’s heart skips a beat. This badass, beautiful woman is his wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do they part. She’s his and he’s hers for life. He wonders how he ever got to be so incredibly lucky. 

 

A slow song starts as Scott reaches his wife and she’s quick to pull him closer, arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

 

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair.

 

“I love you, too.”


End file.
